Have Faith
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: A scene to fill in the moments after April tells Jackson she's pregnant in 10x21.


I hadn't expected him home while I was here, but I'm relieved when he comes through the door. Not only because he's my husband and this is the home we share - we should be in it together - but because I have news weighing heavy on my mind that he should know.

The door comes open and I freeze where I stand, iPod clutched in both hands. I don't move when he comes in, but I keep my eyes on him.

"Hey," he says, pausing in the doorway.

"Hey."

"So, you are…"

I hold up the iPod, even though I'm fully aware that's not the only reason I'm here. It's all I have for the moment. It pisses him off, but I can't exactly be sure why.

"Right," he says, walking past me.

He sets his bag down and I lose my gumption. I can't stay here, he's already mad. It's no use trying to get through to him now. It can wait. There's plenty of time. He obviously still needs his space, and maybe I still need mine, too.

"Uh, I'll see you tomorrow," I say, without looking his way. I don't feel like I can. I smack my iPod against my opposite palm a couple times and start to walk towards the door, but his voice stops me.

"April."

I turn to face him, feeling completely defeated.

"I said a lot of things the other night that I regret," he says, looking at me, too. "And I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings."

"I'm sorry, too," I say, because I am. In the heat of the moment, he wasn't the only one to reach that fever pitch and get nasty. I went there, too.

"Good. So come home, stay. This is a conversation we're always gonna have to have. It's a part of who we are. It's gonna take some talking. But we got married, we love each other, we made vows to push through this sort of thing."

"I know," I say - again, because I do. I do know all those things. I love him with every fiber of my being, there's no doubting that. I've never doubted it, not once. "I love you, too, and we made a commitment…"

"And if you believe in God, then you believe He made me," Jackson says, walking closer after I set down my iPod. His palms are up, arms wide, body language open. His face is freer, too; this is the man I married. "Your husband. Who shares your values, which I do. I believe we shouldn't kill or steal. I believe that you should be truthful. I believe that you should treat others the way you wanna be treated…"

I close my eyes and shake my head. "I agree," I say, but my mind is somewhere else. He doesn't know it yet, but he will soon.

"So, then we can push through this problem," he says, sounding hopeful. More hopeful than I feel. "At our core, we believe the same things."

"But still, I think about telling our children how unbelievably loved they are by the creator of the universe, who also made them. And I can just see you standing there, judging and dismissive, and I just can't get past it-"

His features pinch together again - the anger is back. "Can we please just take a break from our hypothetical children for a-"

"No, we can't!" I say, letting my voice rise for the first time tonight. "Because they're not hypothetical anymore."

We make eye contact for a beat and I watch the realization sink onto his face.

"Jackson, I am pregnant," I say, and though the statement lands like a bomb, I feel lighter knowing I'm not the only one carrying it.

His eyes shift all around my face, desperately searching for a place to land. I'm not sure how I expected him to react - I never wanted to tell him like this. I wanted it to be a bigger production, and I definitely didn't want it to be in the middle of a fight. I always wanted to surprise him with a t-shirt that said 'World's Best Dad' and film the look on his face.

I don't think I'd want to capture this expression on camera, though.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking at the floor. It's sparkling clean - the housekeeper that we fought over whether or not to keep must have come today. "I'm sorry, it wasn't supposed to be like this." I look up, on the brink of tears and practically beg him, "Say something."

He scratches his nose as his lips part, preparing to speak. My stomach twists as I wonder what he might fill the silence with.

"Don't…" he says, then shakes his head. "Don't say you're sorry. It's not like you did it on your own."

"I know," I say. "But the delivery. I just wish it were better."

"Well, yeah," he says, obviously still reeling from the news. "Yeah. When did you find out?"

"Yesterday," I say. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you ever since."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

"Yeah."

I press my lips together and shift my weight from foot to foot. I don't know what happens now. Should we talk about it more? What is there to talk about, besides everything? Should I still leave, or should I stay? Neither feels right.

"We should talk about this," he says.

I nod. I know we have to. I just don't want another argument; I don't have it in me for one.

"Maybe we should sit," I say, slipping out of my flats so I'm in bare feet instead.

He agrees, and we both walk towards the couch. We sit down in our usual spots - with him against the arm and me on the middle cushion, but I don't lean against him like I normally would. It doesn't feel fitting right now. Instead, I bend a knee and rest it on the couch and let the other hang.

"Do you… want this?" I ask, anxiety coursing through my body over what his answer might be. I'm terrified he'll say no. I don't know what I'll do if he does. My whole life will come crashing down.

"A baby?" he asks, and I nod. "Of course I do."

"Oh," I say. "Good."

"Did you think I didn't?"

"I just… I didn't know," I say. "We've been fighting nonstop about our future kids. I didn't know if you'd be ready." I pause for a moment. "I don't even know if _I'm_ ready."

"Do _you_ want this?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. "Yes, of course." I flatten one hand over my belly, smoothing the wrinkles of my shirt.

"At least we're on the same page there," he says.

"Yeah, that's good," I say.

I hate how awkward and strained this is. It should never be like this with him - it never has been before. He's the one person I can always talk to, no matter what. But the air is charged and crackling tonight. I'm afraid that with one wrong move, it'll shatter and everything will devolve again.

"I'm terrified," he says, meeting my eyes. "Is it normal to be this scared? Because I'm… I'm freaking out, April."

I smile - a tiny one, just a bit. "I think it's normal. I'm scared, too. Really scared."

"You are?"

I nod. "Of course I am," I say. "We've been fighting over parenting for the past however-long. And now, there's an actual child to worry about? What's supposed to happen now?"

"I was hoping you'd have the answer to that," he admits.

"I don't," I say, eyes wide. "Not at all."

He sighs loudly, letting his shoulders hunch forward while he stares at the floor. He blinks a few times and I simply watch him, not knowing what to say. What words fit this empty space? I don't know how we're supposed to come to an armistice over this. It's not a simple argument - it's a child's life. Jackson and I were raised two completely different ways, and if we're not willing to meet in the middle and compromise, this is not going to work.

"Mismatched socks," he says, nodding towards my feet.

I look down, too. One is purple and one is white with multicolored polka dots.

"Oh," I say, wearing a tiny grin. "Yeah. I didn't have a matching pair that were clean in my bag."

"I did laundry while you were gone," he says.

"You did?" He nods. "Well, thank you."

He looks up, a genuine expression in his eyes. "Please, stay," he says. "It's not home without you here."

"I will," I say, looking back at him with hopefully just as much truth. "I didn't like being gone, either. I just thought it was best if we had space. I didn't want you to get angry every time you looked at my face."

He chuckles softly. "That's not what happens. I really like your face."

I smile a bit. "I like yours, too. But not as much when it's screaming at me."

"That does kinda kill the mood," he says, playing along.

My shoulders bounce once with a light laugh. This feels more like us - this _is_ us. I wish everything were as easy as our banter is. We know each other so well, better than anyone else does. How come there are still certain things we can't get past? I guess that's what marriage is all about - navigating life with your best friend - but I never knew it could get so hard so fast. And so serious.

"I'm not sure what kind of a dad I'll be," he says, after a sizable silence has passed over us.

He's not looking at my eyes, he's looking at my belly. My belly that's the same as always. You'd never know I was pregnant from the looks of it; the fact that it'll be big and round in a matter of months is so surreal. It doesn't feel possible.

Jackson and I created a life between us. The two kids who came together from strife and let a best friendship blossom into love and passion are going to have a baby. A few years ago, I can guarantee that no one would have seen this coming, especially us.

I shake my head, eyebrows up. "I don't even know where to begin in being a mother."

He looks at me. "Are you kidding?" he says. "You were born to be a mom. You used to mother the frat house all the time. It's who you are. You have no reason to be worried."

"Well, thanks," I say, somewhat comforted.

I guess I'd never looked at it that way before. It's still different - those were grown adults who just had no idea how to take care of themselves, let alone a household. This is a child - a helpless, tiny, living, breathing, crying baby that we made and have no idea how to nurture. I still feel like a kid sometimes, though I'm aware I'm far past that stage. But still, how am I supposed to know how to take care of one when its father and I can't agree on the simplest things? Not to mention the hard things.

"But me, I have no damn clue," he says. "I never even knew my dad. I barely knew my mom when I was little. I had nannies."

"I don't want our baby to have a nanny," I say.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Jackson responds, a defensive snap in his tone. "Mine raised me. I loved them like family."

"I-I know," I say, fumbling. "But I don't want our child to be closer to a nanny than they are to us."

"It takes a village," he says. "You can't judge something without experiencing it. I didn't say what I said to diss my nannies. Without them, I wouldn't be half the person I am today. I said it because they were mother figures for me. I've never had a father figure. How am I supposed to know how to be a dad?"

I shrug one shoulder and let his words sink in. "Just be there, I guess," I say, deciding to leave the nanny argument for a different day. I can't take yet another topic to sift through. "Half the job of parenting is just being there."

"What if we mess it up?" he says.

I don't have an answer for that. "I don't know," I say, and he accepts it for what it's worth.

We sit in the silence and soft sounds of the house for a while, just existing beside one another. After a bit, Jackson closes the distance between us and takes my hand, and relief floods through me. That small action makes me feel so comforted, so soothed, so grounded. The power he has over me is insurmountable.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" I ask, without looking over. I stroke the top of his hand and squeeze his fingers, and he gives me a squeeze in return.

"I think we might need a therapist," he says, and I frown. That was the last thing I expected him to say, but I keep listening. "I think a third party will help. Like a mediator, an outside source. I don't want to keep fighting with you, especially when the topics are so important, and now it's more than just us. There's a kid involved."

"I know," I say, letting waves of exhaustion wash over me. It's tiring, being angry with him, because I hate it. It doesn't come naturally, and I'm sure it doesn't for him, either. "You're right."

He picks up our entwined hands and kisses my knuckles slowly, and I watch while he does. I love the way he loves me, and I always have. I've never been cherished like this - he showers me with affection and affirmations; I never have to wonder how much I mean to him. I know how deeply he values our friendship and our marriage, and I hope he knows I feel the same. I know the bumps are a part of the package deal since we're so different, but I still can't help wishing there were less of them.

"I love you," I tell him, leaning my head against the back cushion. He rests our hands on his lap and caresses my wrist with his thumb, eyes loaded with feeling.

"I love you, too," he says.

I use my free hand to touch my belly, newly excited by the notion that there's life in there. A tiny, miniscule one, but a life all the same.

"Do you wanna… I don't know, introduce yourself?" I ask.

His face lightens. "Yeah," he says. "I can do that?"

"You can do anything you want," I say. "It's me."

"I mean, do you think it'll hear me?"

"Oh," I say. "I don't know. But don't you think it should get used to your voice, anyway?"

"Yeah," he says. "It should."

I strip off my shirt entirely and lay back in my white bra that's patterned with little pink flowers. I let my arms rest above my head on the throw pillow and take a deep breath as Jackson positions his body between my legs, face lined up with my stomach.

"Hey, in there," he says, very quietly. He strokes my skin softly - so soft, the peach fuzz stands up and chills run down my spine. "Hey. I wanted to introduce myself… I'm your daddy."

Those words make tears sting the backs of my eyes. Who ever thought that I would one day carry Jackson's child? The person who was once my only friend is now the father of my baby. Sometimes, I can't believe how crazy life is.

"I'm gonna try and do my best for you," he continues, eyes focused below my rib cage. "I already love you. I don't really know how that's possible, it's kind of crazy. But I do."

I smile and run a hand over his closely-cropped hair. No one else knows this sweet side of him, but it's my favorite thing. I love it when he shows his heart, wears his emotions on his sleeve. It's beautiful.

"Your mom is pretty amazing," he says, glancing up at me for a quick second. He kisses the ladder of my ribs on one side and traces my bellybutton with his pointer finger, slowly and carefully, like he's painting a masterpiece he can't bear ruining. "You got lucky with her. I did, too."

He rests his cheek on my belly and I close my eyes for a moment, dragging my fingernails gently over his scalp and tracing the shells of his ears. If I could keep us like this forever, I would.

He turns his face after a while and kisses low on my abdomen, teasing the waistband of my jeans. I lift up so he can take them off and relax fully as he runs his lips over the fabric of my underwear, then even further down to ghost over my thighs as he slowly eases them apart.

We've been apart for a few days without having sex, so our connection is stronger than ever when he pushes inside me. Being physical with each other is something we both value very much; it's the way we ground ourselves and return to the same plane.

When he looks into my eyes while thrusting into me, our bond is palpable. No words need to be exchanged, because it's all right there in the way he looks at me.

We can do this, and we will. We'll figure it out and find a common ground. There will be more fights, more disagreements, and sometimes it might feel like we can't get through. But as I look into those aquamarine eyes and hold his face in my hands, I know we're going to make it. Giving up isn't an option, and failure isn't even on the table.

He and I have started our family, and it's only up from here. We just have to find a way.

After it's over and we're both sweaty, I don't let him roll off. I wrap my arms around his neck and keep him close, enjoying his heavy weight on top of me. It's solidifying, centering; it reminds me where I am and who I love. Who I will always love.

He traces my collarbone with one finger, lying with his head resting atop one breast. I drag my nails down his back in a specific rhythm that lulls us both into a state of unmatched calmness.

"Baby," he says. "How are we gonna do this?"

I take a deep, cleansing breath and kiss what I can reach - the top of his head. With his body and mind so present, I feel more confident about this than I have thus far.

"Have faith," I say, because that has to be enough.


End file.
